What Lies Beyond the Veil (Of Flesh & Bone, #1)(7)
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” my brother quietly observed, nudging me with his shoulder as we walked along the path toward the village center later that morning. Evergreens and oak trees lined the way, stretching to either side of the road. I couldn’t force myself to walk past the gallows and see what remained of the last body they’d hung for crimes against Lord Byron, so we had to take the long route, unlike the other villagers who didn’t seem bothered by the macabre of it all. “Did your walk in the woods not settle you last night?”
I glanced Brann’s way, smiling despite my better instincts when I saw the exasperated smile on his face. His blond hair was cut short, his skin golden from all his time spent working under the hot sun of the harvest season. His brown eyes, which were normally filled with mischief, felt heavy on my face, as though he wanted nothing more than to punish me for continuing to risk my reputation.
He’d long since given up trying to discipline me, knowing that if my lessons with Lord Byron and the Priestess hadn’t successfully made me an obedient woman, he stood little chance of making a difference when he wasn’t willing to hurt me.
It was a miracle he hadn’t nailed my window shut at this point, for all the times he’d caught me sneaking out or back in. He’d been in my room waiting for me when I’d returned home this morning and hauled myself up and into my window in a daze as the sun rose behind me.
“It was an interesting night,” I said, evading telling him about the circle I’d stumbled across. While I didn’t think he would condemn others for practicing a faith different from ours, I couldn't see him being supportive of my risking the gallows for mere curiosity's sake. Especially not when the ritual the night before had predicted my death before the next Samhain.
“You really must stop sneaking out in the dead of night, Estrella,” my mother said, her voice scolding as she twisted to look at me over her shoulder. Brann pushed her wheeled chair in front of him, his fingers gripping the wooden handles tightly. “What will the men of the village think if they find you? No man wants to marry a woman if he has any reason to believe she is not virtuous.”
“That’s hardly a motivation to stay inside. We both know Estrella doesn’t care much for the idea of marriage,” Brann said with a laugh, earning a scoff and chuckle from our mother. She wasn’t exactly supportive of my hatred for marriage and the way women were treated as if we were nothing more than broodmares, but she didn’t condemn me for it in the same way I suspected most would, either.
I loved her all the more for it. Her tolerance for letting me be who I was in the privacy of our home was something that had enabled me to survive the past two years. Since my coming of age, I’d been being poked and prodded at Temple, my face repeatedly turned from side to side and studied, my manners dictated by the Priestesses of the Mother who sought to train me to be a dutiful, obedient wife one day.
The weekly rite of Temple was something I dreaded with every fiber of my being; it threatened to consume me in the hours of night, leaving me sleepless in my bed. Those nights were when I wandered the most, giving myself deep circles beneath my eyes for the Priestesses to disapprove of.
The large stone building loomed as we approached the western side of the village, the sight of it drawing my nerves tighter. The tower jutted upward, the sole room at the top the temple where the High Priest went to convene with The Father, but though the otherwise square building was well-built, there was nothing spectacular about it. It served a purpose, and that purpose wasn’t a life of excess, but of restraint.
If the ritual the night before had felt wholesome, everything about walking into the home of the Priests and Priestesses felt obscene.
We stepped into the line of villagers making their way into the temple, murmuring happily amongst themselves like they were truly oblivious to the reasons I hated it.
“Mrs. Barlowe,” Lord Byron greeted, stopping to greet my mother as we wheeled her up to the doors. My mother smiled back at the man who’d paid for her wheeled chair out of his own pocket and given her working accommodations that we would never have hoped for.
There’d been many days when I’d gone to Temple and my prayers were filled with pleas for her to never discover the price I’d paid for it in the privacy of his library; I prayed she’d never learn the true cost of his kindness.
“My Lord,” my mother said, accepting the hand he offered and touching her lips to his ring dutifully.
My brother bowed his head respectfully when Lord Byron turned his attention his way while glancing at me out the side of his eye as I dropped into my well-practiced curtsy. I could still feel the impact of my teacher’s cane against my skin when I hadn’t held my posture properly. Could still recall the way Lord Byron had watched my face twist with pain as the blow struck, even years after I’d long since memorized the motions.
Dipping my chin toward the ground at his feet, I waited for the moment his hand would appear in front of me, knowing he’d never miss an opportunity to force me to kiss his ring and remind me of the power he exerted over everyone and everything.
I grasped his hand in mine gently, leaning forward to touch my lips to his ring as I counted.
One.
I want to gut you while you sleep.
Two.
You are the worst of humanity.
Three.
From the corner of my eye, I watched a stately Lady Jaclen glare at me as she saw the exchange for what it was: her husband’s version of flirting. One of these days, she’d kill me herself.